


Misfire

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Can't Live Without You // Queen One-Shots [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Mild Language, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: After catching Roger in his dressing room with another woman, you look to your best friend John for comfort.





	Misfire

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't really written smut before, so bear with me, friends.

As your heels clacked against the cement floor, you heard his dressing room door rip open. Walking faster, you nearly tripped on your way up the stairs. Grabbing the railing, you pulled yourself back up. A choked sob wracked your body, making it difficult to walk. You could barely breathe. The image of his head thrown back as a woman knelt in front of him, touching him the way you’d longed to since he’d left on tour, was burned into your eyes. The show would start in less than half an hour, but you wouldn’t be there to see it.

“Y/N, come back,” Roger called out behind you. “Babe, I can explain—” 

“You can explain what, Roger?” you shrieked, turning the corner at the top of the stairs. Brian was tuning his guitar in the hall. From the way he met your eyes, it was clear he had known about Roger’s pre-show activities. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your fucking mouth.” 

“Please, Y/N,” he begged, catching up to you. He was breathing heavily after having run up the stairs behind you. “Please, let’s talk about this.” He grabbed your arm and pulled you back around to face him. “Please.” 

“Okay, Rog,” you seethed, looking up at him. Hot tears streamed down your face, ruining the mascara and eyeliner you had worked so hard to apply. “Please explain to me how it’s not your fault, that your dick just HAPPENED to fall into some slag’s mouth in your dressing room.” You ripped your arm from his grasp angrily. “And her dress just magically disappeared, along with your shirt and trousers? How fucking stupid do you think I am?” Roger threw his hands up and held his head as if he was having a migraine. 

“I fucked up, okay?” He acknowledged, sighing heavily. “It’s been a long fucking tour, I’ve been away from home, and she walked into the room—” 

“Oh, so you’re going to lie to my face and tell me this is the first fucking time this has happened, Rog?” you shouted, your eyes wide and wild. “You are unbelievable.” John opened the door to your left and stepped out, pausing in the doorway as he felt the tension between you and Roger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Roger said flatly, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know what else to say, Y/N.” He swallowed hard. “Please give me another ch—” 

“No,” you interrupted, holding a hand out to stop him. “Not this time, Roger. I can forgive everything else. The drugs, the booze, the parties…but not this.” You wiped at your cheeks with your palms, which came away streaked with black makeup. “We’re done.” As you turned around, you glanced at John, who was staring at his shoes. 

“Show’s over, Deac,” you murmured, walking away. The door to the back of the theatre, where the tour bus and other support vehicles were parked, was just around the corner. Once you were out of sight, you slid down against the wall, clutching your knees against your chest. A heavy, wooden thud rang out from the main hall as John pushed Roger up against a door. 

“Get the fuck off o’ me, John,” Roger growled, trying to follow you. John held him in place, preventing him from doing so. 

“Leave her alone, Rog,” John warned sternly, his forearm pressed against Roger’s chest. “She doesn’t owe you anything.” Without warning, Roger spat in his bandmate’s face, forcing John to step back and release his hold on him. 

“Fuck you, John,” he hissed. “We all know this is what you wanted.” Roger lashed out with his foot, kicking a road case as he went back down the hall towards Brian. The curly-haired man reached out to touch Roger’s shoulder, but he shrugged his hand away. “Leave me alone,” Roger snapped. He disappeared into the men’s room, leaving Brian and John alone in the corridor. 

“Show’s on in 15, boys!” a voice called from the backstage door just a few feet from Brian. “Finish tuning and get the hell up here!” Brian glanced down the hall at John, who stood with his eyes closed, forehead pressed against the wall. 

“Deac, just ignore him,” Brian said, his voice echoing down the hall, “He’s angry with himself, not you.” 

“He should have known better,” John huffed, colour rising in his face. “He’s an idiot if he thought she wouldn’t find out.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling a knot through to the end of his wavy locks. “I just don’t get it.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he glanced down the hall at Brian, whose mouth was slightly agape. 

“John, you’re going to go after her and talk to her, right?” he asked. “She’s just walked off, and you’ve been waiting on her to be done with Roger for two years. Get the hell out there, man!” John’s eyebrows knit together as he stared at Brian, incredulous. 

“You are joking, aren’t you?” he questioned, pointing down the hall after you. “She adored him, Bri. I’m not going to “go after her” when she’s just had her heart smashed to bits. That’s cruel.” Brian groaned with frustration and set aside his guitar, which he still hadn’t tuned. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall next to John. 

“John Deacon,” he scolded, “are you telling me you’re not going to provide emotional support to your best friend in her time of need?” Brian grabbed John by the shoulders and gave him a strong shove down the hall. “Talk to her for five minutes, then get the hell back here before Freddie loses his shit. Roger will be fine, he’ll pull up his big boy trousers.” John looked over his shoulder at Brian, who waved him on insistently. 

You heard his footsteps as he jogged down the hall towards you. Thinking it was Roger, you turned to the side so he wouldn’t see your face. 

“I said go away, Roger,” you growled. 

“It’s not Roger,” John soothed, breathing quickly as he stopped before you. “Just me.” 

“John, did you know about this?” you asked, tears pricking at your eyes again. “I didn’t expect Brian to say anything, but you…” He knelt down in front of you, his silver necklace bouncing against his chest as he tried to keep his balance. 

“I…suspected, yes,” he admitted, “but it really wasn’t my place to say anything. You’re one of my dearest friends, but Roger is…well, Roger.” You sniffled, but nodded. “I’m sorry.” 

“I get it,” you sighed, accepting the handkerchief John was offering to you. “And I’m really not that surprised, but it still hurts like hell.” John nodded sympathetically, tucking back a piece of your hair that had fallen in your face. 

“It wasn’t right of him,” John stated firmly. “You didn’t deserve that. If he was going to go behind your back, he should have had the decency to end things with you first.” His comment brought on silent, dripping tears. “Oh, dear,” he muttered, shifting his weight from his feet to his legs as he sat down beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders. John had been your closest friend for nearly 6 years, and he had introduced you to Roger. It was only natural that he felt sorry for you. 

“Deac,” you sighed, leaning your head against his chest, “why do men have to be so fucking stupid?” He let out a throaty chuckle and kissed the top of your head. 

“They’re not all like that, you know,” he assured you. “Just the pretty ones, it seems.” The thrum of his heart beating in his chest comforted you. Blowing your nose into the handkerchief helped to relieve some of the congestion that crying always created. 

“You’re pretty, though,” you told him, “and you’re not like that.” 

“That’s debatable,” he muttered, raising his eyebrows. “Everyone has their faults, Y/N. Roger, Brian, me – all of us.” 

“Roger’s a whore,” you sniffed, “and Brian’s off in his own world.” 

“Fred’s a bit of a whore, too,” John mused, and you laughed through your tears. He had always been good at cheering you up when you were sad. 

“I always fall in love with the wrong people,” you groaned. “That’s my flaw. And you…John, you don’t have a flaw that I can think of.” John tilted his head back against the wall, thinking hard. After a moment, he hummed thoughtfully and looked back at you. A jolt travelled through your nerves as his eyes met yours. His expression had changed completely from the gentle, sweet friend you had always known; his green eyes had darkened, and the sandpapery stubble on his chin and cheeks invited you to run a hand along the sharp angle of his jaw. Licking his lower lip slightly, he looked at you in a way that made your spine tingle. 

“I fell in love with a girl who…always wanted someone else,” he said softly, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he looked down at the floor. “But I never told her how I felt. That’s my fault.” As if some invisible force pulled you together, your lips brushed against his face in what could have become a kiss if you’d had a few more seconds. 

“John, I…” you whispered, pressing a hand against his leg, but behind you, the stage door creaked open. 

“Three minutes, get the fuck out here!” the stage director’s voice boomed. John stood abruptly, smoothing the front of his black trousers as he stood before you. 

“If you want, you can wait in my dressing room,” he suggested cordially, as if nothing had happened. “You’ll be able to hear the show from there. And Roger won’t bother you afterwards.” 

“John, what…okay,” you nodded, touching your lips with your fingers. They felt as if you had been stung by something, but you knew it was the warm, electric feeling of desire. John opened his mouth to say something, but he just sighed and returned down the hall he had come from. By the time you wandered out from the corner where you had been moping, the boys had all gone on stage. 

Letting yourself into John’s dressing room, you flicked on the light switch and slid your jacket off. Beneath, you wore a sheer black collared top and a black leather skirt. A thin, black lace bra, also sheer, was visible through your shirt. You cursed yourself for wearing such a risqué outfit, suddenly realizing that it wouldn’t be Roger who would see you now, it would be John. Your cheeks grew warmer as you thought about it, realizing that the idea didn’t upset you. 

_What the hell?_ you thought to yourself, holding your head in your hands. Everything with Roger had blown up in your face less than 30 minutes ago, and now you’re thinking about the man who’s been your closest friend since you were 17? The more you thought about it, the more it made sense to you. Suddenly, John’s interactions with you, from friendly hugs to deep, late night conversations about life, made sense. John had been in love with you and you hadn’t even realized it. Worse, you’d spent the last two years playing on-again, off-again with Roger, all the while asking John for advice about how to work things out with his bandmate. 

You sat down in an armchair to wait, picking up a magazine from the table as you did so. You flipped through the pages, not really taking in any information, for a while, and moved on to a book John had set atop his travel bag. As you read, the show went on, the deep hum of the bass ever-present in the back of your mind. Hours passed, but you didn’t notice the passage of time until you heard the metallic jangle of the doorknob opening. 

Your head whipped around, and sure enough, John stood in the doorway. A thin sheen of sweat shone on his face, and his body trembled in the aftermath of standing, playing, and dancing onstage for hours. He had always said that being onstage was hard work, but now you could see the toll it took on his body. Setting the book gently back onto the table, you stood and walked out from behind the armchair. John got a full glimpse of your outfit as you came towards him. His breath hitched in his throat when he saw the skin beneath your shirt. Everything was on display. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, setting his bass aside. “You look…” 

“A little slutty, if you ask me,” you murmured, stopping in front of him. “Didn’t really put much thought into it, clearly.” His hands trembled as he held them at his sides, yearning to reach out for you. 

“How’d it sound back here?” he asked, changing the subject to keep himself focused. “Always sounds different onstage.” 

“It was great, really,” you assured him. “You guys are always brilliant.” He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to keep his eyes on your face. 

“John, be honest with me,” you requested, your tone serious, “why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“I didn’t want to ruin…us,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I needed you in my life, and figured that even if we were just friends, I’d be fine.” You stepped closer, closing the gap between you. Tilting your face up, you looked into his eyes, a familiar green that had been your companion through many ups and downs in the last few years. 

“Were you?” you breathed, slowly taking his hands and setting them on your hips. 

“No,” he gasped, his lips meeting yours with an urgency you’d never felt before. “God, no.” As John pulled your body against his, all thoughts of Roger left your mind. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured between kisses, “I wish you’d said something.” His hands slipped up into your hair, tugging lightly at first. John slowly backed you against the wall, pressing his hips into yours. He was hard, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps as you kissed. Your hands slid under his shirt, and your raked your nails down his back, eliciting a groan of pleasure from him. You brought your hands to the front of his shirt and made quick work of the buttons, sliding it down over his arms to bare his chest. The shirt fell onto the floor, and no more thought was given to it. 

“Y/N, wait,” John said suddenly, breathing hard as he pulled away. “I can’t…I don’t want to be with you just because you’re angry with Roger. I can’t have this and then let it go.” He held your face in his hands, looking down at you seriously. “I can’t just be your friend anymore.” 

“It was never Roger,” you said softly, shifting your face from his hands and placing your lips against his flushed throat. “John, it’s always been you. I just didn’t know until now.” As you sucked at the skin of his throat, John put a hand between your thighs and trailed his fingers upwards. You moved against his hand, practically begging for him by this point. He played you like his bass, his fingers graceful and strong, hitting all the right notes. Your own hand brushed against the bulge in his trousers. As you undid his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, John began to pant as you stroked him. 

“Y/N, slow down,” he begged, closing his eyes tightly, “let me take care of you for a minute.” Obliging his request, you trailed your fingers up his back and into his hair. John’s hands gripped your bum and lifted you into the air, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you over to the sofa, where he made quick work of undressing you. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, trailing kisses across your bare breasts. His lips and tongue did everything you wanted and more; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this good with someone. 

After removing his trousers, John climbed on top of you. Your bodies fit together snuggly, much to your delight. As you kissed, John began to roll his hips gently against you. With a sigh of pleasure, you grabbed his hips and held him still. 

“I want you, John,” you breathed, arching your back as his lips moved to your neck. 

“We, uh,” John stammered, planting kisses on your throat, “we’ll need to go slowly. I tend to…” 

“Finish the race quickly?” you suggested with a tinkling laugh. 

__“You could say that,” he said, taking in a ragged breath as your hand grasped him tightly.__

____

____

“I’ll make sure to keep you going at a steady pace,” you promised, pulling him in for a deep kiss. 

* * * * * 

A few minutes later, John collapsed against you, exhausted but incredibly satisfied. The pulsating waves of pleasure were still rolling over your body, and you had to concentrate to catch your breath. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” you sighed against his shoulder. He hummed in response, nuzzling his face against yours. You were both warm and sweat-soaked, and it was quite possible the venue would need to replace the couch cushions. Both of your clothes were strewn on the floor, creating quite a scene. As John leaned in to kiss you again, a sharp knock came at the door. 

“John boy,” Brian called out, “we’re headed out to the pub. Are you coming along?” 

“Bit busy right now,” John coughed, trying to cover up a laugh. “I’ll just meet you on the bus, maybe?” 

“What d’you mean, busy?” Freddie complained. “Reading a book isn’t a good excuse to skip a party, darling.” The doorknob turned and Freddie threw open the door, waltzing into the room with purpose. As he caught a glimpse of you and John entangled on the sofa, he turned around immediately, ushering Brian out as well. 

“Enjoy your book, John,” Brian called out with a laugh. 

“Isn’t that Roger’s…book?” Freddie asked, loud enough for you to hear. John buried his face in your hair, groaning with embarrassment. 

__“Roger…has been reading a few other books, Fred,” Brian explained, cringing as he continued the metaphor. “John’s always loved that book, so I’m glad to see he’s enjoying it.”__

____

____

“For the love of God, Brian,” John called out, “stop with the books. You’re killing me.” 

“What’s this about books now?” Roger’s voice said outside the door. Your heart started to beat faster. Even though it was over between you, you knew he’d be incredibly angry with both you and John if he saw you together. Your friendship had always been one of his biggest insecurities in the relationship, and now you understood why. He had seen it coming before you had. 

“John’s not feeling well, so he’s going to stay back from the pub tonight,” Brian explained quickly. “He’s just getting dressed again before he lies down to read for a bit.” 

“Lame,” Roger snorted. “But whatever. He can mope around all he likes.” 

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, John!” Freddie said mischievously. “We’ll see you back on the tour bus for 2:00, alright? Try to take it easy.”

As footsteps faded down the hall, you let out a sigh of relief. John pulled himself away from you, climbing off the couch. He bent down and dug through his travel bag, producing a robe for yourself, and a pair of pants for himself. From a mini-fridge across the room, he retrieved a few canned drinks and set them on the coffee table. 

“So,” he asked, “what do you say?” He cracked the top of a beer open, watching you out of the corner of his eye for a response. 

“I think we should give this thing a go,” you replied, tracing circles on his back with your finger. “I realized while you were out there that I…I love you, John. As someone I can trust no matter what. You’ve been a better friend than I could ever have asked for, all these years.” John wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him tightly. 

“I promise to always be your best friend,” he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling sweetly. “And to never invite sketchy women into my dressing room before, during or after a show." 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment requests for other Queen one-shots!


End file.
